


A Dance of Expectations

by sleepyamericanteen



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Opposites Attract Trope, Original work - Freeform, i just thought to myself "how can i make some spicy m/f where all the characters are bisexual?", this is literally all written because im obsessed with the opposites attract trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyamericanteen/pseuds/sleepyamericanteen
Summary: A mischievous bard. A spoiled Prince. A humble knight. A man trying to find his way back to virtue. They all hide secrets. They all seek acceptance.  Each with a clever tongue and an agenda of their own. Each with an undeniable talent for flirting. How will these four strangers become intertwined in the realm of magic and royalty?
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kexha is pronounced like Kay-sha and Taeron is pronounced like Tare-un

**Kehxa and Taeron**

In the mountains tall and thickly wooded, sheltered within a warm inn, a bard weaves a tale for an enraptured audience. The bard sings and acts out a miraculous tale as the sun sets quietly over the pointed tops of the evergreens.  
A lilting voice fills the ears of the tavern-goers while outside a stranger ties off his horse. He detects a twinge of magic leaking from the windows and through the crack it the door. Inside the hall, a trance befalls all heating the sound of the lute’s story. The other visitors are sluggish and blinking as the bard moves between the tables and past half-finished mugs of ale. They are compelled to hand off their coin to her as she moves through them. Slow hands unknowingly drop money into her purse.

When she finished her song, she slips out the back door, looking down to count her “earnings.” As she pulls a coin from the pouch, a blade rises to her throat.  
“No good stealing from good folk in this town.”  
A glance up at the stranger finds a face handsome, but stricken with pain.  
“They have parted with their coin as freely as the world parts with frost in the spring.”  
“Don’t lie to me, bard. I know magic. Yours is simple and slippery.”  
“I don’t appreciate your conjecture,” she replies, holding the steely gaze of the man. “You have no proof of your accusation in any case.”  
“I think perhaps my blade may be able to press a confession from your lips.”  
“Or perhaps mine will draw one from yours,” she counters. The stranger looks down. The bard holds a dagger to his stomach.

At once, they both pull their weapons away on concession. The bard smiles the sickly sweet smile of a fox and turns to leave. But, at her turn, the man pins her to the wall.  
“Return the money, now, bard.”  
“Perhaps you should draw my name from me before you draw my blood.”

The man smiles wryly.  
“Your spirit is strong. Tell me your name.”  
“I am Kehxa, bard of the glory of men and kings. I sing of the triumphs and defeats of armies, and the small kindnesses of the the earth.”  
“And you’re quite humble, apparently.”  
“Most humble, sir.”  
“Tell me then, humble Kehxa, why do you steal from those already poor?”  
In anger, Kehxa raises a foot and kicks him in the groin, sending him backwards.  
“Tell me then, sir, what gives you the moral authority to lecture me on my behavior? You could be a swindler yourself,” she accuses upon facing him again.

The man closes his eyes, groaning.  
“You are right to ask.”  
“Spare me your teacherly scolding. We are grown, speak freely.”  
“I’m Taeron. And I’m no authority on virtue, but a man trying to improve himself and his virtues.”  
“You fancy yourself virtuous, then? A man of such self-awareness that he can advise others?”  
Taeron scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.  
“I admit, you’ve pinned me quite easily.”  
Kehxa laughs, a twinkling sound, unexpected but pleasant.

Then, alerted to their presence, angry villagers burst through the door.  
“You! Bard! Give us our money back!” They yell at Kehxa.  
“That’s my cue!” She cries and dashes over time a horse tied to a post as Taeron reaches for his sword.  
“Wait!”  
“This must be her companion! Get them both!”  
The two scramble onto their horses as the people close in, breaking off towards the main road. As their shouts follow, Kehxa pulls some coins from her purse and throws them behind her at the villagers. Distracted, they stop to frantically collect the money.

The two ride at a swift pace until the lights of the village have faded from view, and the gibbous moon only lights their way.  
“You are a clever woman, Kehxa. Throwing the money was quick thinking.”  
“Perhaps you can guess that this isn’t my first time at this gambit.”  
“The thought had entered my mind, I must confess.”  
“A fair assumption. Entreat me, virtuous man, what say you and I find a place to camp, and you can tell me the stories of your path to virtue, and I will tell you of my many escapes from certain death.”

Within an hour, Kehxa and Taeron have made camp next to a clearing halved by a stream. Their fire sits a few meters from the edge of the water, and two modest tents sit next to each other. Laughter fills the clearing.  
“You mean to tell me that you swiped them from the Lord right from under his nose? That must have been a priceless laugh!” Taeron’s smile is spread across his face, the hand not holding a flask slapping his knee. “Reminds me of the time I tricked the tailor into running out of his shop without his trousers on. My sisters and I fell into the road with laughter!”  
Kehxa chuckles along with him.  
“And how old were you when you caused this trickery?” she asks.  
“I was about nine, I believe.”  
“Amateur’s work. I was seven when I stole the Lord’s undergarments.”  
“What makes you so certain I’d never played a trick on someone before then,” he challenges.  
“Just something about you. I can’t say, you just seem like...a slow thinker,” she responds.  
“You’re calling me dim-witted, now?”  
“I’m not calling you anything else.”  
“You ought to watch your tongue madam, for I’ve finished my fair share of fights.”  
“As have I. Half-wit,” she adds the insult with a smirk, still reclining peacefully against a tree stump. Meanwhile, Taeron sits upright upon his rock.  
“How dare you make a claim on my intelligence, you hardly know me!”  
“Then perhaps I’ll make a claim on your fighting ability, fool,” she teases.  
“You’ll have to learn of my fighting before you can do that, bard,” he says, standing. “Rise and meet my fists.”  
Kehxa raises her brows at him.  
“I’ll accept your challenge,” she declares, getting to her feet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Second Pairing is introduced. The spoiled prince and the knight. Their chemistry is immediate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some nswf in this chapter. It's relatively brief.

**Arran and Proteus**

In a golden city filled with color, a castle twinkles under a setting sun. Within the halls, a royal court is in session. A group of knights stand before the royal family, and their leader kneels reverently before the Queen as she is knighted for her good deeds in service of the crown. The knights are proud but weary, the dirt and sweat of travel and struggle upon their faces. 

“Thank you, Captain Arran Thynemar, for your dedication to justice and your valor in the face of danger. We honor you with this and hope you will continue to fight for the Kingdom of Tanelin.”

“Thank you, my queen,” she responds flatly.

“Forgive me, but are you not thankful for a royal welcome, young lady?” the queen questions sharply. She lifts her sword up under the knight’s chin, tilting her head up so that she might face the her. However, as Arran’s eyes lifted, she found her gaze held for a moment, by the copper-haired prince in his blue robes. The knight noticed his bottom lip was caught between his teeth before her eyes were dragged back towards the queen. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” she began gruffly. “I’m simply not used to such formalities. I’m quite grateful. Thank you.”

“You are forgiven, Lady Thynemar. Rise, and join me at my banquet this evening. Your knights must be there as well. My court will enjoy the stories of your triumphs.” Then, she addressed the room. “Courtiers, show these people to their rooms and let us prepare for our party!”

At once, everyone in the hall relaxes, and the servants lead the company of knights off to their rooms, but the queen had the captain linger. Now, the queen drops her formalities and addresses the knight by her name. “Brave Arran, I have a strong desire to hear of the far reaches of my country. Please allow me to conference with you at dinner if-“ 

“Forgive me mother, but I’d like to personally escort the captain to her room, if you’ll allow it?” The prince had swooped in, interrupting the queen. Arran finds herself surprised by the request. What could a prince want with her? 

“My son, must you always steal my guests?”

“Mother, I don’t always steal your guests. I do let you keep the boring ones, remember?” The queen sighs.

“Very well, Proteus. She _will_ be my dinner guest, however,” she insists.

“Yes, yes, fine, fine,” he agrees hurriedly. 

He takes the knight by the arm and leads her off down the hallway. “Now. My dear Sir Thynemar. I’m just _dying_ to hear about your journey here.”

“That can’t be true, your grace,” she replies coolly. She hears the prince swallow. Odd.

“Oh but of course it is! You’re a strong,” he squeezes the arm he’s holding onto, “capable woman of renown. I’m sure it was fascinating.”

“Are you flirting with me, your grace?” she questions pointedly. This time, she sees him blush.

“As a prince, I have no obligation to tell you what my purpose is, Sir knight.” Arran nods, an amused smile playing at her lips. “You are a woman of few words then?”

“I find it best not to propose conjecture until after one has collected sufficient evidence, your grace.”

“A-ah. The clever and quiet type. You are as humble as you are cunning.” The prince stops at a door at the end of the hall and opens it for her. “Your room, Sir knight.” After she enters, he just stands in the doorway.

“Thank you, your grace.” This time, she notices that when she says “your grace,” color rises in his cheeks. 

“Please. Call me Proteus. A prince should be approachable, should he not?”

Arran walks behind him and shuts the door. 

“Of course, your grace,” she responds, walking back around to face him. They stand evenly with each other, shoulder matching shoulder. Proteus clears his throat.

“Please. Lady knight.”

“Your grace, you seem distraught. Perhaps something ails you? Have I done something to upset you?” She gives him a devilish smile.

“Forgive me, Sir Arran. But...knights returning from battle, dirty and scarred...well...the sight of them always stirs up something in me.”

“Hmm.” 

She turns from him and begins removing her armor, sighing in relief as she sheds the weight. 

“Hmm? Hmm? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” he questions, his face flushed. “I thought knights were meant to be respectful! Virtuous! And now you’re just ignoring me!” He continues blabbering as she undoes fasteners.

Arran finishes removing her armor and turns back to him, pressing him back against the door with her right hand. He shuts up immediately. 

“You find messy, strong knights to be...arousing...your grace?” she asks quietly, her hand rising so that her fingers brush his neck just above the collar of his tunic, examining the fabric idly.

“Ah-um-well-you see…” he trails off hopelessly. 

Arran tilts her head and leans in slowly, pressing a delicate, warm kiss just under his jaw. 

“Might I ask what exactly has that effect on you, your grace?”

“Oh, Sir knight, I beg of you, stop saying that.” She smirks in pride at his request.

“Is it the tousled hair? Or perhaps the faint smell of salty sweat from a hard battle won? Or perhaps the thought of such...how did you describe it? Strong, capable hands on you?” She presses another kiss to his jaw. He lets out a soft groan.

“Sir Thynemar…”

“Yes, your grace?” The prince groans again as she bites at his neck softly. 

“I find myself-ah-disarmed...you’ve guessed everything correctly.” His voice wavers as her lips move against his skin, a tantalizingly slow attack on his senses. She gently drags her tongue over his skin and he shudders, a hand finding its way into her hair. 

“Oh, Miss Arran…”

“I may be wrong, but I believe my title is Sir,” she politely reminds him, kissing up over his jaw and holding his gaze. 

“Right. Sir.” She smiles and leans in slowly, pressing a kiss to his lips, her left hand snaking around his waist, her right slipping up into his rusty curls.

The knight’s mouth is warm and her lips are soft but assured. She was right: he detects the faint taste of salt on her lips. Proteus is melting into her touch, leaning into her arms more and more. Suddenly she pulls away, and the prince finds himself leaning after her. She turns around and sees the bed.

“Why don’t you take a seat over there, Proteus.”

“Please. Call me ‘your grace.’”

“As you wish, your grace.”

Proteus sits on the edge of the bed between the posts. She approaches him quietly and with her left hand gently grips his chin, tilting his head up at her. Softly, she runs her thumb over his bottom lip. 

“Such dainty lips you have, your grace. I wonder, the manner of sins that have fallen from them.”

“Perhaps you could hear them for yourself,” he encourages, albeit a bit sheepishly.

Arran leans down and kisses him again, open mouthed, unabashed by his reply.

“Oh, I plan to, your grace.”

Arran carefully undoes the tie at the top of the prince’s shirt and pulls the fabric away, laying kisses on his skin and slowly sinking onto her knees. She runs her fingers over the slight bulge in Proteus’ pants. 

“May I, your grace?” she asks.

“Yes. Yes, Sir.” He says it with a wry smile, but she can hear his breath and see his chest rise and fall.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she undoes the belt, and the clasp, and the small tie. And then she deftly frees his length from his trousers, running her thumb over the head. The prince inhales sharply, watching her like a hawk. Then, not wanting to hesitate any further, she replaces her thumb with her tongue, swirling it around the head. Above her, the prince gasps.

“Oh, Sir Arran…” he breathes as she continues, finally slipping the hard shaft into her mouth. “Fuck-!” His left hand tangles in her hair, the other supporting him as he leans back on the bed. “Gods, I thought you looked a spectacle while on your knees before the queen earlier, but I hadn’t realized quite how well it might suit you until now.” She hums in amusement, practiced lips working in tandem with a mischievous tongue on his cock.

Arran worked intently, savoring each lilting moan as she drew it from his lips. Soon, his moans were interspersed with curses, and punctuated with prayers. She would work faster and then slower, keeping him on his toes in anticipation of what she might do next. He was at her mercy; her tongue gliding up the shaft, her lips closing over the tip, her mouth sliding down over it. She continued until he was gasping, both hands gripping at her dark hair. “A-ah, Sir-Arran! Yes, please...I’m almost there!”

Arran stops, pulling her lips off of him and finding the face of an upset prince staring back at her. 

“What! Why have you stopped?” 

“You seem a bit spoiled, my prince. I can’t let you have everything you desire so easily. It wouldn’t be fair.” Proteus begins to protest, but she rises up and meets his lips, swallowing his complaint.

“Fair? I don’t care about fair! I’m a prince! I always get what I want!”

“And what have you done to earn it?”

Proteus falls silent.

“Curses. A clever knight.” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in defeat. “Your tongue is too talented for your own good. In both speech and action.”

“I know,” she replies, kissing him again. “Now, I hate to say this your grace, but I need to bathe and change. The queen has requested me as her guest of honor. I can’t be late.”

“My mother-“

“The queen.”

“Yes, the queen. Doesn’t need to know about this little affair,” he says definitively.

“Call it a secret. The affairs of knights and princes should be sacred,” she offers. This time he leans in and kisses her.

“Hmm. Sacred.”

Proteus gathers himself up and makes himself presentable again. Arran turns to the far end of the room and sees a bathtub filled with water, gentle steam still rising from it. She stands and tugs off her tunic as the prince heads to the door. She glances back at him over her bare shoulder. “See you at dinner, your grace.”

“Hmm.” The door closes behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kehxa and Taeron have a... friendly fight.

**Kexha and Taeron**

Across the fire from him, Arran takes a small step back towards the stream. 

“Already retreating? Are you afraid to lose so swiftly?”

“Not at all, you oaf. I thought you might like to have sufficient space to make a fool of yourself.”

At that, he lunges at her, a punch swinging towards her stomach. She steps to the side, dodging his hit as he regains his footing. She brings up a kick to his chest, but he blocks it with a raised forearm. She moves forward with a series of hits, landing a few as she drives him backwards, parallel to the stream. He moves forward and tries to sweep her legs, and when she steps to try to dodge again, his fist is ready, connecting with her stomach. She groans and charges forward, throwing him on to his back in the center of the stream. Moving in, she tries to subdue him, only to be momentarily blinded by him spewing water into her face. With a yell, she tries to pin him. He counters, rolling over her and a foot away. 

“Letting a bit of water throw off your rhythm, m’lady?” 

“No such case,” she responds, lunging forward again. This time, Taeron dodges her attack the same way she’d dodged his, and wraps her in a headlock, lower arm holding her arms in place. 

“Concede, madam bard.” Kehxa grunts and bites his arm, eliciting a cry from her opponent. He releases her and she pushes him from his knees into his back, straddling him and pinning his arms, victorious. Her wet hair drips on his face, and they both breathe heavily.

Taeron grins, mischievously. “I can’t say I mind losing if the loss ends with a woman on top of me,” 

“You’ll be the luckiest man in the realm if ever I’m the woman in your lap,” she counters, standing and walking back towards the fire. 

”Consider me lucky, then,” he mutters to himself.

Kehxa pulls off her wet jacket and drapes it on a log near the fire as Taeron approaches. “So, now will you make a claim on my fighting ability?” he asks, tugging his tunic over his head and hanging it on a branch. Glancing up, Kehxa let’s her eyes drift over his torso before they reach his face.

“Hmm,” she hums and steps toward him, poking squishy belly. “I like them a little soft.” 

“Lady, I may have a soft stomach, but my arms are strong. Let it not fool you. Now don’t change the subject.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I make no criticism, my good man. I am indeed aware, now, of your strength. But your digging for compliments makes you look a bit silly.”

“Digging? You must be mistaken, I seem to have left my shovel in town.”

“Playing at innocence. Tsk tsk.” She went back to her tree stump and pulled off her boots and trousers, laying them near the fire. “You fight well, sir.” 

“Finally, a decent answer. Not what I expected from you.” Kehxa just laughs. “I thought perhaps I’d have to drag it out of you.” 

“Please. I know when to give credit where it’s due.”

“Then be an example for me. You are a strong fighter as well. For a bard.”

“I’ll cut off your tongue while you sleep if you keep up this nonsense.” He puts his hands up in defense.

“My apologies,” he offers as she squeezes water out of her dark hair. It hits the ground in a small patter. 

“I’ll take them gladly,” she accepts. “But I still don’t trust you, Taeron.”

“And I don’t trust you, either.”

“Perfect. Then which of us will retire first?”

“That depends. How can I know you won’t kill me in my sleep and take my things?”

“And how could I predict whether or not you’ll turn me into authorities for theft?”

“You couldn’t.”

“Then we’ll call it mutually assured destruction.”

“Fair enough. In that case, I think I’ll head to bed. If you could avert your gaze for a moment, I’d like my clothes to dry.” 

Kehxa rolls her eyes but looked away, ears picking up the boots and pants being placed so that they might catch a bit of the fire’s warmth. When she heard him start to retreat to his tent, she turned towards him.

“You’ve got a nice ass for a man of virtue, Taeron.”

“Imagine how it might look if I was a scoundrel like you,” he replied, climbing into his tent. 

Kehxa chuckled and turned back towards the fire, finding her ale from earlier and finishing it off.

In the morning, a pale grey sky greets them. Arran climbs from her small tent, wearing a fine deep green ensemble. Pants and a jacket. Taeron, grumpy, wears the same thing he’d been in the night before, and she finds him poking a stick into a small fire.

“Tell me, dear man of virtue, what makes you wander these mountains alone?”

“Good morning to you too, Kehxa. How did _you_ sleep?”

“Very funny. Answer the question.”

“I’m under no obligation to tell you of my tragic upbringing.”

“Aha! So there was tragedy!”

“You are ferociously presumptuous, lady.”

“Presumptuous? You directly stated that it was tragic.”

“I embellish, milady.”

“Ah. Embellishment. As a bard, you should know that embellishment is my proficiency by trade and interest.”

“Then surely you’ll impart upon me your elaborate and captivating life story, won’t you?”

“What makes you think you’ve earned it, virtuous man?” 

“I could ask you the same, madam,” he points out with a grin.

“Fair. Fair,” she concedes. “I know when I’m beaten. It’s a very important skill.”

“Yes, I imagine you’ve had to become quite good at it. You seem a perfect scoundrel.”

“Scoundrel! I’m no scoundrel! You forget yourself, surely!”

“I assure you, my judgement comes from purest observation.”

“I suggest you hold your tongue before I must tackle you to the ground again.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re dying for another chance to straddle me, my lady.”

“You flatter yourself too much, Taeron.”

“Perhaps you _don’t_ flatter me enough.”

Kehxa scoffs, rolling her eyes. Glancing around, she notices that the fire has grown considerably dark for a morning like this. It should still be bright. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queen spends time with Arran. Proteus doesn't like sharing.

**Arran and Proteus**

Arran finished undressing and walks over to the tub, sighing as she climbs inside. Twenty minutes pass and there’s a knock at her door. “Come in!” she calls. The door opens and in walks the queen. “Your majesty! Forgive me for my state of undress, I-“ the queen waves a dismissive hand.

“No need to apologize, my lady. You are a guest, and you are weary. I would not hold that against you.” Arran relaxes a bit. The queen pulls up a stool next to the bathtub, her eyes moving over Arran’s face with interest. “Are you feeling better, my lady?” 

“Yes your majesty. Much better.”

“Then my son didn’t bother you too terribly?”

“No, your majesty.” The queen scoffs.

“‘Your majesty.’ So formal. My name is Elia. You may refer to me as such.”

“Of course your majesty-er-Elia.”

“Well done. I hope you’ve made yourself comfortable. There’s still plenty of time before the party, so don’t feel like you need to rush. My top priority is your comfort,” Arran is trying to meet her eyes, but the Queen’s eyes have dipped down on to Arran’s body, submerged in the bath water. 

“Are you quite tense?” the queen asks suddenly. 

“Um. A bit,” Arran admits. Without speaking, the queen moves her stool behind Arran.

“Sit up a little, if you please, Lady knight.” Arran obeys, and then the queens fingers find Arran’s shoulders, massaging tight muscles and drawing a groan from the knight.

“Oh… I hadn’t realized how much I needed this,” she explains. 

“You’ve returned from battle, of course you are tense.” The queen’s fingers work inward, closer to her neck.

“Yes, that’s true. I merely find myself hesitating to admit weakness in front of a queen.”

“Ah. A drawback of the crown, I suppose. But you are an athlete, and athletes ought to mind their bodies, correct?” The Queen shifts to Arran’s left, her hands now moving over her arm, massaging shoulder and bicep. 

“You are correct, your majesty.” Arran finds herself surprised, pleasantly. Being in the company of knights provides for few chances for femenine intimacy.

“Forgive my informal speech, but your arms are quite impressive, Sir Arran.” The knight laughs.

“They have charmed many a lady, my queen. You would hardly be the first to notice them.”

“Then I must be in good company with my subjects,” she replies with a genuine smile.

“You’d be in good company among your subjects in any case, my queen.”

“That is a relief. I often worry that I’m out of touch with them. It’s why I visit towns so often.”

“A wise queen does just that, your majesty.” The queen’s gentle hands have reached Arran’s wrist, and she traces her fingertips over the back of the knight’s hand, staring at the few scars that stretch across the surface. 

“Well. The banquet awaits,” she says idly. Her gaze moves back to Arran’s face, studying it with intrigue. 

“Indeed it does. I must finish bathing, your majesty,” she adds. The queen blinks and stands up.

“Ahem. I’ll see you shortly, then.” She turns and leaves briskly, and Arran finally submerged her entire body, then scrubs down as much as she can, careful to avoid new wounds. Later, donned in robes of green and gold, she joins the queen at her table.

Part Three

The party is in full swing, and Arran has been standing at the edge of the dance floor while partygoers dance and sing loudly to the music. She’s next to the queen, engaged in quiet conversation, teasing the guests and their silly habits. Proteus has been watching the queen and Arran converse all evening. The two have been locked in conversation since the beginning of the night, and Proteus is growing jealous. He makes his way toward them carefully, moving between tables and around other guests. 

“Ahem. Excuse me, my lady, might I borrow the guest of honor for a while?” The queen and Arran look up, and the prince grins. 

“Of course, Proteus. I realize I’ve been a little selfish.”

“Indeed, you have been, mother.”

“Watch your tongue, foolish boy.”

“Yes mother,” he replies instantly. The queen chuckles. Proteus leads Arran onto the dance floor, the two joining the other dancers. 

“The green suits you, Sir Knight.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“...I wonder how you can spend this fine party merely chatting with my mother.”

“Your mother is the Queen. It is wise to seek counsel with powerful figures.”

“Perhaps, but I am the prince. Well versed in the pursuits of dancing, amusement, and indulgences.” He slips his hands into hers, moving them into the dance.

“Hedonism, you mean to say.”

“Oh, you wound me so, Lady Knight.”

“The wounds of the foolish seldom take long to heal.” The prince scoffs haughtily. “Proteus, your temperament reminds me of a friend I once had in one of the western kingdoms when I was in training as a squire.” She spins him around by the right hand. 

“Ah, who is this friend that has such an admirable disposition?”

“A young noblewoman, interested only in mischief and life’s pleasures, like you.”

“And what of her now?” he asks as the song changes, slowing their movements.

“She abandoned nobility to live as a bard, traveling the land in search of her pleasures and mischief.”

“Who would give up a life of pampering and authority to sing tales of the lives of others?”

“Unlike you, she was unsatisfied with the life of aristocrats and royalty. She felt that it lacked...flavor.”

“And you were friends? I find that hard to believe. You seem to be so focused on glory and toil.”

“Being focused on something does not mean I look blindly on everything else,” she counters, pulling him close by the waist so that their chests press together. “I thought you might have deduced that on your own,” she whispers in his ear.

“Are you suggesting you were intimate with this girl, as well?”

“We had a...close relationship, yes.”

“I find myself envying someone I’ve never met,” he confesses. “There is nothing as sacred in this world as the gentle exploration of intimacy between two young people.” He seems almost wistful when he says it. She rolls her eyes.

“Do you mean to tell me that the encounter we shared earlier had no effect on you, my prince?”

“Not at all, Sir Knight. I’m confident that we could perform great acts of worship between each other’s legs,” now he imitates her earlier kisses to his jaw, returning them chastely on her soft skin.

“Your relationship with the Gods seems to be cultivated in quite a specific manner, your grace,” she replies, desperately trying to retain her composure.

“I worship in the best way I know how, Lady Thynemar.” He smirks at her, and she knows he must be planning something in that devilish head of his.

“Something tells me that you learned it that way on purpose.”

“You called me spoiled earlier. I can deny it all I want to, but it _is_ true, despite what I may want to think about myself.” He idly runs his fingers along the collar of her tunic, delicately grazing her skin.

“Is that...humility I detect?”

“Please don’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t want it to go to my head.” His soft eyes feign a pleading look. Arran laughs and shakes her head.

“You are quite the character, Proteus. A spoiled prince, yes, but an intriguing and fanciful one too.”

“I’m impressed that you can see all of my layers,” he compliments. As they speak, he leads her off the dance floor, moving further down the hall and off into a side corridor.

“I find that no person of nobility is as simple as expected, despite what we commoners may wish to think.”

“Arran, you speak so wisely, I wonder if you ever take a break from your intelligence.”

“Do you suggest that I don’t know how to have fun, your grace?”

“I suggest nothing of the sort. I merely...imply.”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I?”

“Yes!”

“Are you upset?”

“Do you test me, Prince?”

“I test, but, perhaps not at you.”

“Perhaps you need someone to hold your tongue for you, since you seem incapable of it on your own.” With that, she presses him against the wall of the empty hallway firmly. She fixes him with a stern gaze.

“Do you intend to be that someone?” He asks, innocently enough.

She doesn’t reply. Rather, she kisses him, hands rising to his cheek and neck. He grips her shirt, pulling her flush against him. His soft lips move like pulling velvet under hers, and for a moment she wonders if years of charms and lies have weathered them smooth.

“You refrained from answering my question,” he breathes when their lips part.

“Why do I get the feeling you intended for this to happen?”

“My dear knight, I’ve asked my question first.”

“With all due respect, my prince, but please do shut up.”

“Make me, if you dare, Sir Knight.” She holds his gaze for half a moment before kissing him again. Proteus is in awe of the gentle but insistent way that Arran kisses. She’s strong and steady, and just as self-assured as he is, but the way she kisses him makes him feel like she needs him right then. Like everything else in the world doesn’t matter at this exact moment.

“You excel at this far too much for your own good, Arran,” Proteus tells her when they break away again. She just laughs. “Please allow me to take you to my chambers so that we can spend the evening together a little more privately.”

“I could hardly deny the wish of a prince.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kehxa and Taeron reach Tanelin, where Kehxa runs into an old friend.

**Kehxa & Taeron **

“Tell me you notice this odd weather we’re having, Taeron.”

“It’s certainly not going to be gentle,” he responds, his brow furrowing. Wind picks up, whipping through the trees and tearing off leaves. Taeron quickly stomps out the fire, and steps over to his horse, anxiously petting it. The sky cracks as lightning strikes the ground in the clearing. Pillars of smoke rise up where they hit. Five strikes in total, around the perimeter of the clearing. One lands behind the two people, and they jump forward. The wind swirls around the clearing, pushing them towards the middle, and fog seeps through the woods.

“What’s happening!” Taeron yells.

“I don’t know! I think it’s magic!”

A hazy blue light suddenly grows in the center of the clearing, hovering above the stream that bisects the exposed patch of ground.

A large figure in flowing robes appears to them as they stand on the banks of the stream. Kehxa glances at Taeron, and they both turn and run for the edge of the clearing. However, when they near the edge, an invisible force throws them back as mist swirls around the clearing just at the edge. The figure floats towards them, towering and fierce. 

“You have entered my domain uninvited. You have burned my trees for your fire, and you have tracked your muddy boots into my stream. You have disrespected me in the highest regards! Foolish humans, with no regard for that which they destroy!”

Taeron and Kexha scramble to their feet and run towards each other for protection. 

“Please forgive us!” Kehxa yells.

“We meant no ill will towards you!” Taeron supplies.

“Your will is meaningless to me. What’s done is done! What stands between me and turning you both to ash?”

“Please! Please, your holiness! Do not harm us! How can we possibly convince you to spare us?”

“Kehxa, you cannot just offer yourself flagrantly to old deities! You’ll have us raising the dead! And what’s this ‘us?’ Don’t you go roping me into this!”

“Silence! Or I will not steady my hand for much longer! If you wish to live, you will complete this task for me.”

“Of course. What can we do for you?” Kehxa responds.

“You must travel to the Eastern mountains to the Cave of Winds and retrieve the urn that contains the ashes of my son, Glacius. Then you will bring them back here and sprinkle his ashes in my pond, so that he may lay at rest.” 

“Wait. Glacius is your son? Then you must be Tempestos! God of storms!” Taeron realizes, gasping and dropping to his knees. Meanwhile, Kehxa stands, shocked. 

“Cave of Winds! But that chamber is guarded by the Glacian Serpent! It has three heads and teeth of finest steel! How could we ever slay such a beast! There are only two of us!” she cries.

“You will not be alone. I foresee two companions. A mighty hero, skilled in battle, and powerful sorcerer. They will help you. And I will give you each gifts to aid you in your quest. Stand, my son, tell me your name and I shall give you your gift.” Taeron stood anxiously. 

“I am Taeron Featherwood.”

“To you, Taeron, I give this balm. It can heal any wound made by a blade, no matter how deep.” The god, surrounded by a faint blueish light, reached out and placed a small jar in Taeron’s hands. Then Tempestos turned to Kehxa. “You are not afraid little one. A brave young woman, but confused. Tell me your name.”

“Kehxa. Liadon.” 

“To you I give this ring. It will guide you when you can see no path forward. But be not hasty in its use. It will only help you when you truly need it most.”

The two travelers muttered quiet thanks to the god, nodding their heads. 

“You will complete this task for me before the next full moon. Tonight the moon will be full. When you awake tomorrow, your time will begin. If you fail, you will both meet death in the most excruciating way you can imagine.” With that, the god disappeared, and the clearing immediately returned to calm as it had been before. Then, the two of them found small marks on their left wrists, a crude drawing of wind, gentle imprints of their dreadful promise. 

“Wait a moment. Did you say your name was Taeron Featherwood? As in legendary bandit and mercenary Taeron ”the Torturous” Featherwood?”

“We need to get moving. We only have a day to prepare before we start on our quest,” Taeron added, changing the subject.

“You are! How could I not realize! The tell-tale white hair! The infamous scar on the side of your face from when you faced the Freylian vulture! It’s really you! Some virtuous man _you_ are! You have more blood on your hands than a king declaring war!”

“Enough! Yes. I am-I _was_ -a bandit and a mercenary. But I’m trying to be better. I’m trying to...right my wrongs.”

“Hmm. Fascinating. Fascinating. Tell me, mister Featherwood. Or should I call you Taeron the Torturous-“

“I said enough!”

“Are the rumors about your,” she coughs delicately, “equipment, true? They say many a woman has left your bed hardly able to walk in the morning.”

“Kehxa-I don’t have time for this. A rumor is a rumor.”

“And how could this possibly be one you’d like to deny? It does you such a service!” She takes a step towards him, so that she stands only a few inches from him, and begins walking her fingers up his chest. “Perhaps we can postpone this quest for a few hours so I can properly assess your talents, mister the Torturous?” Taeron huffs, but she notices a twinge of pink on his cheeks.

“A few hours? You think yourself to have the energy of a child, my lady. Come, we have work to do, and apparently, companions to find.” Kehxa groans but follows him back to where their things lay scattered, and they pack up, hopping on their horses before departing the clearing and heading North up the road.

They travel all day until they reach the outer wall of the city of Tanelin at sundown.

**Arran & Kehxa & Taeron**

Arran wakes in the morning, the prince lying peacefully next to her. She’s dressed in a plain white tunic, her hair is down, and her legs are bare. Light streams through the windows, early September sun warming up marble floors. She recalls the way they’d spent an hour kissing like foolish adolescents before the prince retrieved a bottle of wine and they chatted and laughed late into the night, before finally dragging themselves into the bed, kissing some more, and then falling asleep. 

Proteus wakes up when he feels the bed move. He sits up and rubs his eyes, spotting Arran by the windows. Truly, they both were wondering why they hadn’t slept together. They seemed to have perfect chemistry, but as soon as they started talking about their lives and ambitions, they couldn’t stop. Instead they laid on the floor, giggly with bellies full of alcohol and weaving for each other stories of childhood and glory. Perhaps the two of them were enthralled to have company that truly engaged them for the first time in far too long. They each matched wits, sparring with their words and flirting like adolescents.

After breakfast, Arran makes her way into the city, eager to spend a bit of leisure time back in the world after so much time spent only with her troops. Now she was back in comfortable civilian clothes, free to go about her business in green and blue, rather than the usual smudged silver of her armor. It often felt heavy for reasons besides simply being made of metal. She felt that because she was a knight she was expected to always be pure and perfect and chivalrous. How she longed sometimes to be a bandit on the edge of the city, being rowdy in the tavern and taking home anyone she fancied. Still, she felt selfish to complain. She had everything she could want: a life of doing what she loved, and friends, and a sense of duty. The only thing she’d never had the opportunity for was deviance. She found that each time she met someone simply wandering the road, a jealous ache filled her heart. As she looked around the market, people moved about, collecting the things they needed and chatting with friends. She’s still deep in thought when someone crashes into her, knocking her bag to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you’re walking!” Arran said sternly. “It’s extremely rude to-“

“Arran! Arran it’s _you_?”

“Kehxa?” Arran stands there, stunned. Kehxa, face broken into a huge grin, throws her arms around the taller woman, laughing. 

“Arran it’s been so long since I’ve seen you! At least three years, I think. When last we were in each other’s company you had just finished your training. Have you seen any action since your knighting?”

Arran graced inquisitively at the tall, dark skinned stranger accompanying her old friend before she replied.

“Ah, a little. I fought in the battle of Caspia and the siege on Forsivius. They made me a captain…” she grins sheepishly.

“Oh, forgive me, _Captain_ Arran!” Kehxa teases, punching her in the arm. “Tell me, have you feasted with the queen and listened in on her ludicrous political natterings?” 

“Matter of fact, I have, and they aren’t ludicrous.”

“Says you, maybe.” Taeron coughs behind her. “Oh I’m such a fool. Arran this is my newest friend and companion. Taeron!”

“Pleased to meet you, my friend. Taeron….?” she begins to ask. Taeron shuffles.

“Just Taeron,” he fills in. As a known outlaw, he was certain that giving up his full name would instantly land him behind bars.

“Right. Now tell me, how did you find yourself tricked into traveling with this scoundrel? She’s dragged me into my fair share of trouble, I can tell you.”

“Uh-there’s no need to get into it! We just stumbled into each other! That’s all there is, really,” she interjects, clearly deflecting.

“I caught her stealing from some townsfolk.”

“Kehxa!” 

“Taeron! Do you see that look she’s giving me! I’ve managed to avoid it for three years and within seconds of meeting you she’s already back to it! How could you dare tarnish my reputation this way?”

“Kehxa, if your reputation is tarnished, you’ve only yourself to blame.” Kehxa rolls her eyes. 

“Wait, you said you were a captain, Sir Arran?”

Arran turns to him and nods. “Kehxa! Arran may be exactly who we were told we’d find! She’s a respected warrior, is she not? Aren’t you?”

“You’re a genius! She said she had dinner with the queen, you’ve got to be damned reputable if you earn an audience with the queen. Arran, you have to take us somewhere private so we can discuss something with you. It’s extremely urgent.” The look on Kehxa’s face told Arran that this was no laughing matter. She agrees, and they move back through the city to the palace. 

“My dear, my old friend. Is there any way that we could avoid the royals as much as possible? I’d hate to have to see anyone I might have a grudge with.”

“Kehxa, you panic too much. I remember your sensibilities well.”

“I never did deserve a friend as lovely and kind as you,” she replies fondly, leaning over and kissing Arran on the cheek. Arran glances over at her curiously. 

“I take it you missed me?”

“Arran, you know without question that you’re on my mind every day.”

“Perhaps I’m aware of it…” she teases. Behind them, Taeron clears his throat.

“Tell me, how did you two meet?” he asks them.

“We grew up together. Arran and I have been thick as thieves since we were young.” 

“Fascinating,” he hums. This Arran character was captivating to him. She seemed poised, collected, noble, with a confidence in herself he’d rarely seen before in his life. He decides to keep quiet and listen. Perhaps Kehxa’s mysteriousness could be exposed thanks to her old friend. Taeron was keenly aware that Kehxa had been holding things back from him, though he could hardly hold any anger for it-it wasn’t as though he wasn’t harboring secrets himself. As regretful as he’d been to let her discover his true history, he was certain that lying to a god was certainly the wrong move to make. However, before they’d reached the city, he had politely asked her to keep his name a secret. Mercifully, she agreed to keep his identity a secret, and he had a feeling she knew a thing or two about hiding who you are. Regardless, she had a cheerful temperament, and her ease with laughter and weaving stories put his mind at rest. 

Once they reach the palace, Arran quickly takes them through the stables inside to her room. 

“Tell me, Kehxa, what is so urgent that you have to discuss it with me like this?”  
“Er, Arran. You know me to be a bit of a troublemaker...correct?” Arran gives her a worried look, nodding carefully. “Well. I may have...crossed a line from trouble to danger.”

“Danger? Try gruesome death at the hands of an angry god!” Taeron exclaims, looking at Kehxa incredulously.

“You angered a _GOD_?” Arran asks in shock and disbelief. Kehxa’s gaze immediately drops to her feet.

“Does it help if I inform you that it was a sincere accident?”

“No!”

“In all justness, Arran, it was his fault that it happened in the first place! If he had just let me leave the way I intended, we never would have had to run into the forest like that!” Kehxa defends.

“If you hadn’t stolen from those people I wouldn’t have had to stop you!” Taeron fires back.

“You were _stealing_?”

“No.”

“Oh right, right, so taking money from peasants by magic coercion doesn’t count as stealing?” Taeron inquires, folding his arms and giving her a nasty scowl. 

“Kehxa, I thought you promised me-” Kehxa surges forward and grabs Arran’s hands. She lowers her voice to a whisper.

“Arran please. As you know me, know that I have an explanation for this. I’ll tell you everything. Just please don’t bring it up now. This was all an accident, and now we need your help, or both of us will die.” Arran’s eyes grow soft. She sighs and pulls Kehxa into her arms.

“I’ll help you in any way that I can, now please, tell me what happened.”

“All right. It began when-”

“My Dear Arran, I haven’t seen you all day, where have you-” Proteus nearly trips over his own feet in surprise when he sees the three of them standing there. “Who are these people, and what are they doing in my palace?”

  
  
  



End file.
